Traumatized
by Stef-chan
Summary: ON TEMPORARY HIATUS - When Vegeta is abused for twenty years by both his father and Frieza, he develops split personalities. Will Bulma be able to help him break this trauma before his father breaks his sanity?
1. Insufficiency

**[ Traumatized ]**

DBZ © Akira Toriyama, Bird Studios, etc.   
Excerpt of "Hell is for Children" © Pat Benatar  
FanFiction and characters Onian and Egnaro © Stef-chan

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_They cry in the dark, so you can't see their tears  
They hide in the light, so you can't see their fears  
Forgive and forget, all the while  
Love and pain become one and the same  
In the eyes of a wounded child_

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Chapter One – **Insufficiency**

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"Get up."

The single ceiling light swung back and forth, its luminosity dimming and reappearing in a cycle of slow, mournful unsteadiness. It flickered once—a split second of brightness that was bright enough for an actual face to be seen. Flickering once, and then dying to pitch black before the inefficient light bulb lit back into its dull glow. It failed to stress the action that was taking place below it; a small figure stumbled into a corner where the light failed to illuminate.

A sudden, sharp blue irradiated from the other side of the room, forcing the figure to naturally respond to the contrast of luminosity and throw his forearm in front of his squinted eyes. He would've looked away. He should've. But he didn't dare. He wasn't weak. He wasn't scared. He had enough dignity in his eight years of youth to tolerate the person in front of him. But he failed to do more than the attempts to get his eyes adjusted to the person's radiating ki.

How else are you to respond to an angry madman that was stronger than you?

"I said get up!"

He opened his mouth to whip out his usual sarcastic, sharp-tongued response, but he failed to speak. He tried not to touch the purple and green shades spotting his throat. There were five spots in all, one for each finger on the hand that had wrapped around it and had lifted him up a good height above the ground. It's happened before, though in the past it hadn't been bad enough to leave him mute.

He wished he could speak. He wished to infuriate this man just to piss him off, even though that was the stupidest thing one could possibly do in a situation like the one he was in right now. So he sat there, his eyes squinted, his arm shielding, and his other hand fisting tightly.

"GET UP!"

Something hard hit against the side of his face without any sign of warning at all (though he knew deep inside that it was soon to happen) and was not at all surprised when he was thrown against the other end of the closed room. His head hit against the stone wall and immediately heard a sharp cracking sound from the wall that resembled a violent clap of thunder. He reached behind his head, trying to still the murderous earthquake inside his head, and felt a warm wetness that he labeled all too familiar.

His eyes were adjusted to the light by now, though really, all he could see was a dark black that dimmed on and off, causing him to wonder if the dimming was due to the insufficiency of the light bulb or his very own eyes. But this time, despite his fading eyesight, he made the effort to stand on his two feet without swaying, as if he meant it to be a slap on the face to his abuser. Hurt me all you want, his pose seemed to dare. You'll never hurt my pride.

There was another blow to a head, though this time, he was fast enough to duck and counter the attack with his own. Not that his attack would've caused any harm, but it was worth a try anyhow. The adult evaded the boy's weak attempt and thrust a fist, his fingers tightened into a ball in such a way that his knuckles could inflict the highest amount of pain, into the boy's stomach.

And that was the end.

The child stumbled onto his hands and knees with the sound of a vague, but at the same time an awfully distinct, snarl sounding from the background. Shame overwhelmed him at the sound of the deep voice that lashed at him, enough so that his chest tightened and constricted his heart.

"Weakling," he heard in the gruff voice that often tore away his sanity late at night. "It's what you get, boy, for being such an insufficient failure! Never again will you humiliate me and jeopardize my empire! You, you weak excuse of a son… If you are to idiotically pick a fight with one of Lord Frieza's men, at least do it in a fashion so that you will not embarrass me in the way that you did."

The palms that were flat against the ground curled into fists. His head was bowed in disappointment for himself. What his father said was the truth. What in hell's name had possessed him to fight one of the members of the Ginyu Force? Sure they had sneered at him and poked fun of him, prodding and dully stabbing his ribs with the butt of the hand-held weapon that they did not necessarily need… But was that really a good reason to stand up to them and risk irritating Lord Frieza?

The light finally failed to work and flickered into darkness.

"As your punishment," the voice continued. The boy knitted his eyebrows closely above his bruised eyes in understanding as if his father need not go on. "You are refined in here for a week without food."

No other words were spoken and the finale of the entire entertaining display was the slamming of a door and the click of a lock. The last that he did before he lied down exhausted, was scream with frustration and shed the very shameful and uncontrollable tears.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"That was a little harsh, sir," Nappa said slowly, eyeing the closed door with a devoted bodyguard's concern before he quickly looked straight ahead and led the king out of the lowest floor of the grand palace. The entire floor was for confining the Saiya-jins' captives and the more extreme criminals, and on the far left wing was the deserted hallway with only one single room at the end of it. That room belonged to a certain crowned prince, whose scream he could hear just now.

The king growled and lowered his ki. With the lack of light, Nappa held up the torch a little higher so that he could light the dark hallway.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Nappa," the Saiyan King responded sharply, warning the teenager that if he was ever to voice his opinion aloud ever again, he would get a beating similar to the one he just laid on his son. "Vegeta is none of your concern whenever I am present. You, you dumb fool, will keep your mouth shut whenever the boy receives his punishment."

Nappa winced as his response.

The rest of the stairs were ignored when both levitated into the air and flew their way up to the top, where they were now standing on the ground of a more cheerful, brighter surrounding. The young bodyguard waited until the king took out the key from the pocket of his uniform and locked shut the last sturdy door. A click. Nappa hated the clicks, more so after his prince had once confessed his fear of "clicks" to him when they had been training.

The beating was not what Vegeta was incapable of tolerating, but rather the conclusions of his punishment, which consisted of seclusion, neglect, silence and the darkness of his confinement. It "tamed" the boy far better than any beating, for after a beating, a Saiya-jin was always capable of becoming stronger; and because Vegeta was obsessed about his strength, he welcomed the beating.

But the seclusion, which consisted the lack of light, exercise, companionship, as well as the lack of food—ESPECIALLY the lack of food—was the worst punishment one could possibly give to a Saiyan.

"Nappa, you are dismissed," the king finally said when he slipped the key back into his pocket. "You know the rules. I will not tolerate you sneaking down there EVER again to give the boy something to eat. He is confined from food until the end of this week, is that understood?"

The tall teenager, who was much taller than the king himself and actually towered over the rather short man, swallowed hard and nodded.

Then the king left, and he was all alone, giving him the opportunity to eye the closed door one last time. He pitied the prince. It was not like he was buddy-buddy with the young Saiyan, but he understood his situation far better than anyone else ever would since he was the only one that was completely loyal to him (which was really actually just a part of his job as a bodyguard) and kept things confidential.

It had not always been like this. Not really. At least, not until six years ago when the cursed Lord Frieza started harassing the existence of Vegeta-sei. Fearing for the worst, the king became obsessed about perfection and pleasing the powerful alien's every wishes. Yet Vegeta, a boy who had been raised for two years to be defiant (and who was naturally just like that), had caused some trouble, which permanently convinced the king into thinking that the boy was the cause of every problem.

"Put me before Lord Frieza," he would say one day, and then another it would be, "Lord Frieza comes before anything." "Be strong and defeat him," another common response, which would be countered by, "Respect Lord Frieza at all times! Do not defy him!" Then there was the usual high expectance of his child which included reaching the level of the Legendary Super Saiyan and becoming the next king, though for the most part, he believed that the day his son reigned would become the day his kingdom would fall apart.

In the king's eyes, Vegeta was a failure, and failures, especially ones that carry the honor of holding the royal crest, must be punished into perfection. He would never tolerate insufficiency.

"I do not approve of the way the king treats the boy," said a voice, and Nappa quickly turned around and ended up facing Dr. Briefs, the newest replacement technician and mechanic from Earth. "He will not shape the boy into perfection, but something very opposite from it."

Nappa snorted.

"You think I don't know that, old man?" Nappa questioned with a frown, and continued with, "I'm not as stupid as I look", which Dr. Briefs did not take too seriously. Nappa squared his shoulders, making the feeble man look much feebler than he really was, as he waited for the technician to continue.

"The Saiyan King is creating an unstable future ruler," Dr. Briefs said sternly while stroking his gray-lavender mustache. "Child abuse is a rather forbidden thing back on my home planet. They claim it leads to insecurity, future violence, low self-esteem, trauma, mental disorders—"

"I don't know what you're talking about but the prince will be just fine," Nappa hissed. He never quite liked the old man very much. "Prince Vegeta is strong."

Seeing no point in arguing with the dull-minded Saiyan, Dr. Briefs nodded in agreement and walked his way, but not after taking one final glance at the large, locked door. He could almost imagine what terrors might befall the mind of the young prince, and thinking such possibilities caused him to frown. He had a daughter of a similar age that he had left behind on his home planet with his wife, and he thought about how much his daughter was being spoiled and pampered this very moment.

He shook his head and left Nappa's presence by turning around the corner. Perhaps work would get his mind off of all of this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I really don't know why I try to put up with you monkeys," said a nonchalant voice in his usual cool, conservative temper. His black, beady eyes followed the Saiyan King's movements as he entered the room with his head bowed in respect. "You're all weaklings—insolent weaklings—that do not deserve to take up so much space in this universe."

"My apologies for my son's behavior, Lord Frieza," King Vegeta said, his eyes lowered and his head still bowed. Even though he did not dare look his superior in the eye, he knew very well that Frieza was relishing on his usual glass of red wine while sitting on the grand chair of his throne. Bordering the room were his own higher officials, humiliating him thus further that their king was incapable of sitting in his own chair. His fists clenched—Frieza saw, but took no thought of it.

"It is not your son's behavior that disappoints me," the salamander-like alien hissed. He took a sip of the wine in his slow, patient time before he continued. "It's rather his weakness. Never have I seen such a weak little creature. Couldn't even defend himself from Captain Ginyu's plastic gun."

The boy's fault. It is ALWAYS the boy's fault! The king growled inwardly, mentally taking a reminder to confine Vegeta in the cell for an extra week. He knew Vegeta would cause the decline of the Empire! He knew Vegeta would annoy Frieza!

"Now, now, don't blame the poor boy," Frieza said with amusement as he eyed the fist that clenched and unclenched and the vein that protruded and disappeared on his forehead. "It isn't just the boy's fault. Your entire race is a joke. You know very well of my mission to demolish and set clear of all foolish, weak races. Yours, unfortunately for you, is one of them. You have failed to find me suitable Saiyans that are worth becoming a part of my group of elites and you have failed to produce new weaponry."

"But Saiyans fail to do well with technology and—"

"Which is why you are all the more useless! I should destroy this place right this very second!"

King Vegeta clenched his teeth. Make that three weeks for the boy! Under the gaze of Frieza's disapproval and the threat of having his entire existence demolished just at the fingertips of this invincible creature, he suddenly felt his cape three-hundred times heavier and his heart beat ten times as fast. A migraine began pulsating, and, despite the pitying stare of his own royal court, he couldn't think to do anything else but get on his knees and beg.

How humiliating.

"Please Lord Frieza! The previous set of technicians have been punished and killed! We have a new set of scientists, led by Earth's very popular Dr. Briefs. He, surely, will not fail to meet your standards. Just spare the life of this planet for just a little while longer and we will have the improved scouters completed."

Frieza relished on watching this proud, honorable king sit on his knees with his head bowed. It made him feel all the more superior and stronger and powerful, and because he enjoyed this feeling of supremacy, he found no harm in meeting the king's wishes. Besides, he had heard of Earth's brilliancy and he really was in need of more effective scouters.

"Very well. I will return in four years for the list of my expectations to be met. This includes the scouters, the shields, updated completed programs, and a fleet of strong Saiyans that could actually meet the strength of Zarbon. Is that clear?"

King Vegeta nodded, and bowed one more time with gratefulness while ignoring the soft murmurs of the Saiyan crowd. He watched with both relief and frustration as Frieza left to aboard his ship and depart. He had four years and all of this, from the Saiyans' "weakness" to their incapability of intelligence to even the four years of labor ahead, was Vegeta's fault.

The boy was becoming the source of all his problems.

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Why won't the bleeding stop?

His eyes fearfully wandered from corner to corner, for he memorized the exact location of such things, as he was confined in this room more often than he visited his bedroom upstairs. His heart, though his body seemed to slow down and shut off for the time being, seemed to race faster and faster and his breath quickened into unsteady gasps.

He quickly looked to his left, thinking that he saw some movement in that direction, but closed his eyes and blinked away the vision while ignoring a pearl of salted liquid leaking out of the corner of his eyes. It was crazy to think that there was another being in this room, for there was no detectable ki anywhere; but when confined in this prison with nothing but the thunderous sound of his stomach to company him, he could not help but think that there was more to this room than just emptiness.

He swiped his forearm across his eyes. It was a shameful thing to do. To cry, that is. And he had been crying much too often as of late. No wonder his father was so furious at him. Whoever heard of a crying Saiyan prince? He could not blame his father for thinking that once he inherits the crown, he would cause the decline of the Saiyan Empire. Everything would be his fault—and everything, already, was his fault.

Another movement.

A low growl escaped his throat and he powered up his ki high enough to illuminate the room. But sure enough, the cell was empty. He had only imagined it, just like how he often imagined the voices he heard when falling asleep and the faces he saw when sitting in the corner all alone. He powered back down for he could only keep the room lighted for so long before collapsing out of exhaustion.

He might as well get used to the darkness and the movement and the voices and the faces. That's what a real warrior would do, and a warrior he definitely was. A Saiyan warrior feared nothing (except Frieza and his men, anyway) and would be disgraced to be afraid of mere hallucinations…

…Which was why he was just that much more insufficient.

He groaned and rested his head against the wall, ignoring the sting that followed it. He closed his narrow eyes and tried to picture himself in a more comfortable setting with a satisfied stomach. It was the most pleasing way to handle this entire ordeal; just forget and live in your mind's world as reality's refugee.

He, being much too young and too inexperienced, had no idea that he was slowly developing a split personality. He, being much too naïve despite himself, had no clue that his mental stability was deteriorating. He, the _Saiya-jin no Ouji_, knew of nothing but the titles his father would throw at him: _Insufficient, weak brat._

_You were never meant for anything greater._

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**To Be Continued…**


	2. Transition

Summary of Last Chapter:   
The story starts with one of Vegeta's many instances of being physically abused by his father for failing to satisfy his high standards. We're introduced to Nappa, who is the teenaged bodyguard of Vegeta, as well as Dr. Briefs, a replacement technician and mechanic for the Saiya-jin king.

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Chapter Two –** Transition  
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"…Pardon me, your highness, but I think you've gone a little too far this time…" 

"…Who are you to question my actions?! …"

"…He seems to be breathing at a normal pace. He'll be fine…"

"…Damn boy…"

"…We should leave the young prince to rest…"

He found it hard to breathe, as if an impossibly heavy weight was sitting on his chest and strangling the very breath and life out of his lungs. Each movement was sheer agony and would only result in unbearable stings. He felt crippled. He probably _was_ crippled. But then again, every time he was lying in this room, he always believed he was crippled, only to wake up to see that he was just fine and it was only the bruises that were giving him such a hard time.

He hated this room—not as much as _the_ room, of course—but he hated this room and its smell of plastic gloves and medical equipment. Always and always, he could hear a small beeping from a contraption sitting beside the uncomfortably hard bed; a contraption that showed a line that would sometimes zigzag up and down and sometimes fall silent into a straight line. The beeping got on his nerves, for sometimes the beeping was like a soft whisper, and in other times, it seemed so loud that his head and eardrums were surely to explode.

He felt heavy and useless, and his eyelids refused to open and stare out at the bright, white light and the faces that would embroider his view. He kept them closed, for darkness was something his eyes were always accustomed to, as he lived half his life in it. There were tubes up his nose and he was dying to yank them out, but it was impossible to move and his arms were strapped down to his sides.

It was always during these moments that he shut his eyes and mind down, and opened up nonexistent memories that he would create just for his thoughts' pleasure. He'd create places he'd never been to, people that failed to exist, emotions that were never revealed, feelings that he had never witnessed, and all this just to escape the fear and darkness that would envelop him. Thinking was far better and far more satisfying than the miseries of reality, for reality was a place of darkness that lacked everything that his heart desired…

He ignored the pair of gloved hands that touched and observed his every wound, and focused on what his mind saw. And with these strange, complicating, heart-ripping dreams, he finally breathed a steady breath and fell asleep. He would deal with reality later when he would actually have the strength to pull those annoying tubes out.

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King Vegeta was fighting back a longing need to meet his hard, bony knuckles against the unconscious boy's jaw. It seemed that as of late, hitting the child was the only way to satisfy his intense, violent needs. You would think that in four years, the boy would learn how to behave like a proper Saiyan royalty! Four years. Four damn years had passed and nothing had changed.

Frieza was to return this very evening and inquire about the army of strong Saiyans he had failed to organize. The mere thought of it sent the _Saiya-jin no Ou_ pacing back and forth with concern. How was he to explain this to Frieza? What valid excuse should he use?

"Your highness," a doctor said, trying to catch the king's attention without angering him. "Your highness, your son will be fine. His injuries were not severe enough for the use of a regeneration tank. He should be back on his feet without any defects in six hours." The doctor paused to order his assistants to carry Vegeta's limp body into the regeneration tank. "However, there is something I'd like to discuss with you that caught my attention."

"Is it mandatory?" King Vegeta asked, rubbing his temples to ease his growing migraine. "Can it wait for later? I have matters to tend to and must prepare for Frieza's arrival."

"_Hai_, your majesty. I know you are a busy man, but this concerning your son—"

"Then it can surely wait," came the snide response. However, King Vegeta stayed put once he saw how serious the doctor looked. He sighed. "What is it?"

"Vegeta's power level has increased dramatically over the past couple of years. The strongest I've seen yet for a twelve-year-old Saiyan. The constant states of unconsciousness that he falls into (the doctor was sure not to call them an act of abuse for it annoyed the king) forced his power level to multiply ten-folds countless amount of times."

King Vegeta snorted stubbornly. "You shock me, doctor. He has yet to prove to me this 'strength'. He has always been a weak pushover with only a bad temper to back it up."

"And another thing… It appears that the prince has developed an unstable mental condition—"

"I am a busy man," King Vegeta cut in, narrowing his eyes. "If this is all you have to tell me, then I will cut this conversation to an end. I have much more important things to concern myself about than the boy's 'strength' and his condition or whatever it is you were going to say. After all, as disappointing the boy is to me, he still manages to get back on his feet."

"Yes sir."

Both watched as the assistant doctors gently placed Vegeta inside the pod-like tank and fastened the mask over his nose and mouth. When the door was closed, the doctor pressed a few buttons and almost immediately, the tank filled up with a blue liquid substance. The low hum of the regeneration tank was the only sound heard and for a while, everyone just stood there, waiting for the king, who began to pace again, to give them any further instructions.

The door of the medical room rapped and the king pointed to a short, stout little doctor, then nodded over to the door, a silent instruction to open it and allow the knocker to enter. The doctor obeyed and they were faced with no other than the respectable head technician. Dr. Briefs, dressed in his usual white lab coat, which was the only thing, beside his glasses, that gave him the character of a wise and intelligent old man, stepped in and peered at the group of men that were physically stronger and larger than him. He took not a moment of intimidation, however, and took his glasses off to wipe a fingerprint off with his shirt.

The king straightened his posture and mustered up a pleasant smile despite hectic circumstances.

Dr. Briefs smiled back and bowed before his superior. He caught sight of the regeneration tank and the young prince's face that floated behind the circular window, and tried not to frown. He did not think he would ever get used to the boy being refined inside that contraption so often.

"What is it that you want, Briefs?"

"Lord Frieza has been sending in more and more orders as of late," Dr. Briefs began, wary of any sign of temper triggered by the mentioning of that name. "I'm afraid that I cannot seem to keep up with the pace, so I have a favor to ask of you."

"Depending on the favor."

"I'd like to send for my daughter, Bulma, to help assist me with some of the newer projects." He quickly continued before he could be interrupted. "She's a young girl, two years the prince's junior, but she is already decent in how the world of mechanics run. She's a fast learner and will be able to keep up with whatever assignment that I give her. I am only asking for your permission."

"Two years the boy's junior—she's five?"

"Ten."

"Ten, five. Same thing," the king mumbled. He stroked his brown goatee and lifted a thick brow. "I am guessing that I will have to have one of my men retrieve her. Is she aware of the help that you need?"

"Yes."

"All right then. I hate children, but if you insist that she will become an advantage to me, then I suppose I won't mind. I already have a handful with the boy messing up all the time—I will not tolerate any sort of trouble from this child. Is that clear, Briefs?"

"Yes sire."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A slow sense of consciousness settled in just as the liquid was flushed out, leaving his half-nude body exposed and cold from the aftereffects of staying in liquid for so long. A sense of power that he had lacked several hours before rushed inside of him and the first movement that he made was the downward slanting of his eyebrows. His fingers curled into fists before he lifted it and ripped the mask away from his face. He kicked open the door and stepped out, biting back the shiver that ran from his shoulder down to his toes.

He flared his ki high enough to dry his wet hair and to demolish the beads of blue liquid that rolled off the chiseled muscles of his young body. He eyed the armor that was carefully set beside the tank and refused to waste another second as he quickly dressed himself.

_He hurt you again…_

Voices. He hated voices, more so because only _his_ ears heard it. When mentioning these voices to someone else, people gave him strange looks and would claim that they heard nothing. It was as if he was cursed with an invisible shadow that continuously followed him around no matter where he went or what he did to preoccupy his mind.

There were always two voices in his head, both of which he abhorred just as equally, and they'd battle inside his mind like two separate beings wanting control of the main body.

_He always hurts you. You didn't do anything wrong this time and you know it. He just hurt you for absolutely no reason._

He clutched onto his head as he fought back a headache. Perhaps it was because he was hungry, since it always seemed as if his hunger was never appeased, which may explain why he always heard the voices.

_Hunger doesn't have anything to do with it._

Vegeta growled and out of frustration and confusion, grabbed the regeneration tank, ripped it off the wires it was hooked up to, and threw it against a huddled group of medical equipment. He lifted his hand, palm-out, towards that annoying, beeping contraption they called a heart monitor and demolished its existence with a beam of blue light. He aimed his palm at everything else in the room and willingly destroyed everything in sight.

Then after his frustration settled and sensed the ki of a couple of doctors headed his way, he put his arm down and flew out the door, pushing aside the medical experts and heading straight towards the kitchen to quench the undying throb in his stomach. He was physically healed and could feel the healing contraption's success each time he moved his well-built muscles, but the headache and the hunger were two of the most aggravating things the regeneration tank almost always failed to alleviate.

He flew past his father's throne and he bothered not to even breathe around its presence. He knew who was inside there—he knew that both of them were inside, for the mental clock that he had built inside himself instinctively told him that their Lord had arrived. Years of beating had taught him that it was better to stay out of Lord Frieza's way whenever he was near his presence, for he was liable to goof up and humiliate the entire Saiyan race, and it was best to keep his distance from his father, for if he did fall into fault, then a severe punishment would soon pursue.

Knowing this and setting this as his top prioritized rule, he flew past the throne room—that is, he surely would have had a hand not quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down to his feet. A low snarl of detest rumbled in his throat as he looked at his burden.

"Nappa," he hissed, frowning. "Have you been some other bumbling fool, I would be dragging you away this instant and ripping every limb off of your body."

But the threat did not seem to falter the rather serious expression on Nappa's face—and when Nappa was as serious as he was at that very moment, then it was likely that something foul was to conjure. The young prince recomposed himself and yanked out his hand from his bodyguard's grip, silently cursing him for nearly cutting off his blood circulation. He did not take the time to observe his wrist, however, for he was more interested in what Nappa had to say.

Nappa straightened his posture. Vegeta lifted a brow.

"Don't be too angry for grabbing you like that, your highness," he apologized, trying to sound as intelligent and as serious as he possibly could. "But as your bodyguard, I thought it would be right for you to know what the king and Lord Frieza is discussing."

"I don't have any interests in what they're babbling about," Vegeta countered quickly, much too determined to eat and prevent a fainting spell. "I'm hungry, Nappa, and you, a Saiyan, should at least have an idea of how excruciating that can be."

"I know, I know, but this is urgent. Just…trust me. I'll get you your food."

Prince Vegeta blinked with an almost-vacant expression as he watched his older, taller, buffer, but certainly weaker, bodyguard dismissed himself from his presence. He shrugged it off, because knowing Nappa, if his father and his superior's discussion was more important than food (especially for a prince who had starved for a week), then it must be important.

He walked over to the entrance of the throne room, a tall and wide opening that was embroidered with black and gold and secured by two black pillars. He peered in and directed his attention solely upon the two most imposing beings in the room and not at the disfigured and random standby characters that were marked as Frieza's men. The room was made of a golden material that was lighted by the many black candles attached to the candleholders on the wall. Black tapestries fell and decorated the lone, distinguished chair that belonged to his father, but was clearly occupied by an alien.

_Be careful_… A soft, child-like whining sound—the second of the two voices—entered his mind. …_I don't want to go back into that room again. I don't want to fall into any trouble. We're not as strong as we'd like to believe… I don't know if I can take this anymore._

"Just shut up and stop your damn whining," Vegeta hissed quietly so no ears could hear him and discover his eavesdropping presence, though it seemed as if Frieza and his men had already caught him with their scouters. "I am not in the mood to tolerate you."

_But I'm scared…_

Another migraine brushed against him just as the hunger in his stomach kicked in and he leaned against the black pillar closest to him for support. He deliberately muted out the voice, for this voice was far easier to manipulate than the other, and focused upon the conversation between King Vegeta and Lord Frieza.

"…You've failed me again, Vegeta," Lord Frieza was saying, looking disinterestedly down at the _Saiya-jin no Ou_, who was on his knees like a slave to its master. He nodded over to a set of contraptions that were carefully placed against black cushions with gold tassels. "Sure your Dr. Briefs had managed to complete all that I had asked for, but you… Your incompetence is really grating on my nerves."

"Lord Frieza, sire, it's just that…" King Vegeta hesitated as he glanced at his court members. "…No Saiyan could ever meet up to the greatness and to the extreme power that you and your men possess. You know that. No army of Saiyans, no matter how trained they are, could ever measure up to your standards."

"Well it looks to me that you just didn't try!" the stronger exclaimed, his suspiciously smooth voice echoing in the large room. His tail flipped back and forth with pleasure at the compliments however, and the prince assumed this because he owned a tail of his own. "If your men are as weak as you claim they are, then by no means there's no reason for me to let your pathetic race live on!"

"But I'm sure we're not so bad that you need to take time to destroy this planet! We've made these devices an—"

"These devices are nothing! There are plenty of more intelligent races out there capable of producing weaponry for my men. Your technician isn't even Saiyan! Your Saiyans have always failed to accomplish anything but boast about a strength that I find to be nonexistent."

"But not everyone is weak! We…We do have a few rare Saiyans that are strong. It's just that we don't have an entire _army_ of strong Saiyans and…and…and just this morning our medical experts have informed me of my son's increasing power. He is stronger than even some of the older Saiyans and definitely more talented than other boys his age."

"How old is he?"

"Eight."

I'm twelve, father, Vegeta thought with suppressed irritation, and his fists clenched tightly as the conversation deepened. What were they discussing him for? And what exactly did he mean by his increasing power? What power? He did not possess anything but an incompetent lack of strength and focus, and his father had thrown this title at him so often that it was like a sure, permanent marking on his record. He was confused, but all thoughts ceased when he caught sight of Frieza's narrow, beady eyes look him over with growing interest. He swallowed back a nervous and unsteady lump in his throat and tried to ignore the observing consideration the powerful creature was throwing at him.

"What is his power level?" Frieza questioned without really taking his eyes off of the prince, and the boy's father seemed not to notice Frieza's interest.

"I don't know that for sure but the experts have it recorded in their file, which I can gladly give to you," the Saiyan King murmured, and he snapped his fingers and crossed a glance at one of the Saiyan stand-bys, who nodded and quickly retrieved the file at record time. The king yanked the folder out of his grip and in contrast to the violence, gently placed it against Frieza's outstretched hand.

Silence pursued as Frieza flipped through the pages and read the information that was provided in the manila folder. With every second that passed by, Vegeta could only grip onto the pillar just that much harder in anticipation of exactly where this conversation was headed. It did not satisfy him at all whenever Frieza passed expressions of interest and intrigue into every curve of his solid white face; Vegeta was good at reading expressions, for reading faces was something he had taught himself to do.

His wariness was cut short when a large, muscled hand placed itself against his shoulder and Vegeta quickly and defensively turned to find himself face-to-face with Nappa, who, in his hand, was holding onto a tray of food. But for once, Vegeta shrugged off the hand and ignored the food, far more absorbed with the scene that was currently taking place in the throne room.

Frieza abruptly closed shut the manila folder.

"I have a proposition to make with you," he suddenly said, and the king looked up with hopeful eyes. "Forget my earlier orders about the army. I will ensure you the safety of your Empire for all eternity and will forget your incompetence of following my directions, if you will give me something in return."

"Anything!"

"Give me your son." A sly smile curled against Frieza's face and Vegeta's mouth went dry with horror. "I propose a transition of your son for the safety of this pathetic planet. My men and I will personally train him, and if he is as strong as this folder claims he is, then it is possible that he will become as strong as my pet Zarbon. You have nothing to lose, except the boy who you consider a pain in the backside anyway. What do you say?"

There was not a single moment of hesitation. The deal was set, signed, and sealed.

Anger welled up inside of the twelve-year-old boy and he could no longer suppress it. His ki burst into a flame of blue light as he deliberately departed from the entrance of the throne room and retreated into his bedroom, where he would confine himself and give himself the time to think and sort out his troublesome feelings. He was not hungry anymore, for there were things that were considerably far more important than food now. But no matter what thoughts intruded upon his head, only one thought plagued him more than anything else:

In just three minutes, the prince of Saiyans had been sold like a slave by his very own father.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**One week later…  
**

****

She was a spoiled princess dressed in the finest clothing a ten-year-old could wear; a spoiled little girl whose excitement she could not contain as her wide but beautiful circular blue eyes fell transfixed with her alien surroundings. Her lips, soft and supple in a way that only a child could possess, was rounded; the two simpering lips protruding outwards in awed delight. Her flawless pink-white skin excitedly deepened with color as her hands weaved together in anticipation of being rejoined with the father she had not seen in four years. 

Small of height, dainty and slender, curves not yet developed but disillusioned in comparison to the friendly locks of turquoise hair that was curled bouncily like little springs and carefully pigtailed by red, silk ribbons; she was adorned in a petite white sweater and a red skirt, bold and bright, a complete contrast to her black and dark gold surroundings; and her legs were exposed to the public without any fear or embarrassment for only hours before, she had disapproved of the heat and had ripped off her white stockings. She stood clad in her outfit that clung to her entire body with only the white flip-flop sandals to finish off her very presentable self.

She brushed back her bangs, which were curled in front of her forehead, and forced herself to squint those wide, curious eyes in attempts to distinguish her father from the group of big, burly, men. It was not hard, for the almost bald, white head definitely was a contrast to the natives of this strange world, and at the sight of the familiar old man stepping aside from the group with outstretched arms, brought an unbelievable rush of emotions that she, with her youthful self, was incapable of holding in.

"BULMA!"

Those untouched lips broadened into a wide smile as she unlinked her two hands and stretched out her arms to meet her father's. She tackled him, though her lack of physical strength prevented the old man from being thrown back. She giggled, a joyous laugh that was very much lacking on this planet, at the touch of her father's furry mustache against her cheek.

She turned around and looked at the two boys that had accompanied her on her trip. She smiled at them; one smiled back and the other refused to make such an abominable expression.

"Gokou! Raditz! This is my dad!"

"I'm not stupid," snorted the older of the two young men, as he floated off of the ship and headed back towards his home to announce his success in finding his younger brother. "Finally, I can run away and get away from that snickering and giggling mess."

The story of the boys was not at all very complicating. Saiyan boys, she was told, were sometimes sent off to other planets to conquer and purge as a mission that Lord Frieza had requested many years before. Gokou, or Kakarot, as his birth name really was, had been ironically assigned to Earth to take over and destroy, yet an accident had rendered him memory-less of his past at his home planet and had stripped him of his Saiyan characteristics. He grew up with an old man by the name of Son Gohan, whom he had labeled as his unofficial grandfather, and was brought up to be a kind, generous, and an aloof little boy.

But with the newest proposition and the assurance that Frieza would no longer claim hold of the Saiyans, Bardock, the boy's true father, had sent his older son, Raditz, to retrieve the boy (in which he did), but before setting off to the planet, Dr. Briefs had asked for a favor to find and bring his daughter as well, just to save everyone the time and expense. So it was done.

"Fine then, you big mean jerk!" she shouted back, watching as the teenaged boy became no bigger than a speck in the sky. She turned her attention towards Gokou, who was scratching his head and observing the crowd of his own species as if they were aliens. "Gokou! Come meet my Papa!"

Bulma watched Gokou crouch down, preparing himself to jump off the ship since he did not quite know how to fly just yet, but stopped short and turned towards the opposite direction at the sound of angry screams and cries. Bulma squinted her eyes and released her grip on her father, lifting her feet to stand on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of a boy whose limbs were each being chained down by the hands of strange, ugly creatures.

His body convulsed, throwing and tossing itself in attempts to free himself of his imprisonment, yet the beings that were dragging him towards a large, insect-like ship were much stronger and ignored the boy's struggles. He screamed out foul words, baring his teeth like an angry animal determined to escape from its cage. Bulma watched in amazement as his hands locked into fists and a vein protruded out of his forehead, followed by a bright blue aura that surrounded his entire body—like a living light bulb, she observed.

Her pity for the boy heightened when his slender, brown, furry tail curled around the wrist of one creature in attempts to loosen its hold of him but failed miserably. Angry tears leaked from his eyes, blanketing the sides of his face as he continued to scream obscenities.

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE HONORABLE!" he seemed to say aloud, his voice directed to the caped, lone man whose back was turned against him. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE HONORABLE!"

Bulma clutched onto her father, eyes wide as she stared at the strange boy, wondering what sickness he had befallen or what mental issues he possessed. She never failed to notice the scars imprinted on his arms like permanent tattoos, giving him his character just as the dignified widow's peak and the wild flame of hair did. His dark brows were knitted with uncontrolled anger and his eyes, when they opened, were black pupils that first eyed that lone man with hatred, then became transfixed with hers.

She felt her breath catch as he eyed her with just as much hatred as he held for that caped man, and the boy continued to stare at her as he shouted out more uncontrollable words.

Vegeta never failed to notice the head technician, whose arms were around that flawless, innocent girl with a love that he had never experienced. He stared at those arms with raging jealousy, and then up at the girl who stared at him as if he was some kind of a wild animal. Anger at the unfairness of life, how she could be the child of an understanding man with hands than held rather than strangled, how she possessed an innocence that he had never been given the opportunity to obtain; the unfairness choked him as he was dragged inside a ship that symbolized the end of any hopeful future that he had ever held.

The last that he saw before the ship's door closed on him was the girl, who turned to her father and questioned, "What's wrong with the boy? Where's he going?" which was responded with a weary sigh.

"It's nothing, child. Don't concern yourself about it."

**  
  
To Be Continued…**


	3. Intimidation

Summary of Last Chapter:   
Four years pass since the first chapter and Vegeta awakens after another severe beating from his father. He eavesdrops on a conversation between King Vegeta and Frieza, in which the two agree upon Frieza's withdrawal from Planet Vegeta's affairs in exchange for Vegeta. Gokou and Raditz make a brief appearance towards the end, as well as a ten-year-old Bulma, who witnesses Vegeta as he is dragged into Frieza's ship against his will.

* * *

Chapter Three – **Intimidation**

**  
  
Flashback**

A gentle flurry of snow drizzled into swirls of curlicues, a complex design of crystallized ice that added a bitter bite against one's nose. A pair of feet sank deep into the hills of white, freezing and leaving frostbites from the sole to the quivering knees of a certain _Saiya-jin no Ouji_. The dulled eyes never noticed the beauties of each unique sliver of crystal, but rather the cruelties of the never-ending winter climate of a place he liked to call, Hell on Ice.

Lips once smooth and blushed were frozen into a deep purple, drying and chapping so that the center of the lower lip cracked and a thin trace of blood slid down his chin. The trail of crimson left small drops of dye onto the pure snow for only a short while before another flurry froze the blood in its place, sealing the chapped skin for it to break another time. Snowflakes, white and innocent, graced his dark lashes and thick eyebrows, and left his tall flame of hair frozen in ice and snow.

Intimidated by the oncoming snow, his body shook and felt immobile. Far worse was an emptiness in his stomach that drove him mad with hunger. He was still unsure whether the quaking of his body was due to the extreme cold or to the fact that he had not eaten in days. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had not slept for just as long. Whatever it was, he had been out in the cold for a week and the numbness of his senses was finally kicking in.

Vegeta collapsed into the snow.

**  
  
Flashback**

"Look at him," Zarbon laughed, speaking out despite the fact that Frieza had ordered everyone to 'shut up' and get out of his way. Normally, all of Frieza's orders were directed to everyone except for Zarbon, who was, quite frankly, the _Ice-jin_'s finest pet. Zarbon was spoiled beyond belief and was given privileges that no other man were given the opportunity to obtain. "Look at the Saiyan boy."

Frieza smirked, pleased to see that the Saiyan had been delivered to him safe and alive, though he did notice the purpling bruise on the left eye and the blood matted at the end of his furry brown tail. The twelve-year-old Vegeta was glaring defiantly up at the two aliens who continued to observe him jeeringly, while shivering from head to toe at the unusually cold temperature of this strange alien planet.

"He's shivering. What a weakling."

"Now, now, Zarbon," Frieza intervened, curling a smile that Vegeta labeled as something he would hate for the rest of his life. "You have to remember that his home is like an oven and therefore he has never experienced cold weather."

"He even tried to ki blast the snow when he exited the ship!" exclaimed Egnaro, one of the men that were assigned to bring Vegeta to him, and the room burst into fits of laughter.

Vegeta's cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment as he clearly remembered how stupefied he was when he first saw snow and the flakes that sprinkled down like light rain. How was he to know that it was harmless? It was possible that this planet was poisonous and those flakes could have burned his skin. You just never know what to expect in foreign planets…

Nevertheless, his embarrassment and the anger evoked by the constant teasing was beginning to force his fists to clench.

"Silence!" Frieza barked out and the laughter ceased immediately, minus the one poor soul who choked out a snicker, and out of annoyance, Frieza took the effort to put him out of existence. "I told you all to shut up!" He paused—a deathly silence—and then chuckled. "Blasting the snow, eh?"

Another someone snickered, and Vegeta lifted his head up arrogantly.

"Well, if our Monkey Prince cannot handle this cold, then he, by far, will not be able to meet up to my standards and will be incapable of purging planets of harsher conditions. …What a shame." Frieza's narrow eyes scanned the shaking twelve-year-old up and down until he met Vegeta's eyes, which seemed to look him up and down daringly. Frieza frowned.

"Well then, every week, leave the boy out in the cold for a maximum of four days. He will eat in the snow, sleep in the snow, train in the snow, hike in the snow, and do everything in the snow until the cold will settle into his survival instincts. And don't feed him. If he is to survive, then he is to find the food on his own. EGNARO! I'M PLACING YOU RESPONSIBLE FOR VEGETA!"

"Yes, Lord Frieza!"

Fear and dread burned inside Vegeta's stomach, and anticipation was the last thing on his mind when he thought about living out in that white thing called 'snow' for four days, and the planet's days were by far longer than Planet Vegeta by several hours. It was then that Vegeta tuned out the jeers coming from Frieza's men and realized the full extent of what his new life was going to be like. For the first time since he was a young boy, he felt intimidation.****

**End of Flashback**

That had been four years ago and Vegeta had never quite gotten used to the cold, though granted he did manage to last longer and longer during each "training session". This time, the strict orders had been extended from four days to a full week and those three extra long days were sheer agony. For a while, he had kept up his ki, realizing that ki warmed him up in such cases, but he could only stay powered up for so long. Hunger and weariness had its way of weakening a person.

The wind swept through his hair and added a chill to his already frozen body. With stiff limbs, he pushed himself so that he rolled onto his back and brushed the snow off of his face. A numbing dullness crept inside of him. He should just lay there, die, and end the misery. He had thought about suicide several times. What the hell was the purpose of life, anyway? A person's fate at the end of life was to die, wasn't it? And with the pathetic life that he possessed, it was better to cut the process short, wasn't it?

_Yeah. Let's just lie down, close our eyes, and go to sleep—A LONG sleep. I'd like a little rest. _ The voice giggled. _ Don't you?_

Rest would be good. He silently thought about the turn of events in his life, from the excruciating six years of constant belittling from his father, to the four years of harsh survival under Lord Frieza's dictatorship. His childhood upbringing had been twisted into a life that was definitely not worth living. Really, what _was_ the purpose?

He still failed to get used to the fact that during nights, his roommates would pull pranks on him or beat him for no reason—for snoring? The Saiyan prince never snored! Then he thought about those times when he was placed inside of a regeneration tank, only to find that people whom he pissed off would tamper with the mechanics and set the machine in reverse, causing it to slowly kill and deteriorate his existence.

It happened quite often, actually.

He thought about fighting for food, the space, and the benefits that everyone competed against each other for. They served no purpose but to suck up to Lord Frieza and receive his approval, and what did that lead to? Humiliation? Inferiority? Was it even worth it?

_Vegeta, let's go to sleep._

He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

**  
  
Flashback**

A large orange hand, curled and fisted like a rock, jabbed the side of his face, knocking out the consciousness he had fought so hard to protect. He felt life slip away from his grasp but as fate was always cruel to him, he found that he just could not die. He just…couldn't. They, his captors, would not allow it. His life had been worth the loss of a planet that Lord Frieza had control over; he was worth a little too much to be killed by some senseless beating.

Influence.

Manipulate.

Acclimatize.

But never go so far as to kill him.

Vegeta felt the large, warm hand wrap around the back of his neck and the feel of that scaly, dry skin set the fine hairs on his back to prickle with trepidation. He felt light-headed, yet at the same time, it was as if his head would explode at the pressure caused by the gripping clamp around his throat. Blood boiled in his face as his abuser refused to allow it to circulate.

"We have a way of finding runaways," Egnaro, his captor, snarled, relishing on the inaudible whimper emitted from the Saiya-jin's mouth. "When Frieza assigns you a planet to purge, you do not take that opportunity to escape. You legally belong to Lord Frieza. No one, not even you, can break the legal contract."

"…Screw…the…contract…"

His body was heaved against the wall of their room and Vegeta flew through about ten walls before he found the power to stop himself. The young teenager flew back, his anger and pride the only motivations to pummel and hurt the one who hurt him. Rage welled up and frustration beat against his relinquished soul. Trapped. Always trapped.

He fought like the trained Saiyan, reveling in his current speed and power, relishing as his own bloodied fist slammed into his face, but disappointed when his attack did not harm his abuser. He forced himself to halt when the orange hand grabbed onto the tip of his tail and crushed it with a grip too indescribable to explain. Pain rushed up his spine and rang like a high-pitched alarm inside his brain.

Then, because of a movement he did not see, he was finally knocked out and did not wake up until three days later.

**End of Flashback**

His eyebrows fought his frozen face and furrowed at the memory of the pain that seeped into his body for days after his tail had been injured. Heaviness set against his body as his eyes slowly opened…and closed…opened…and closed… Though his eyes faintly saw it, his brain failed to register the fact that a group of men—Egnaro being one of them—trudged their way through the snow and hauled him. He did not hear the belittling insults and he did not see the mocking sneers on their faces. All he thought about was the cold…the hunger…and the pain…

Why could he not just die?

**End of Flashback**

The steady rhythm of the sound of hard heels clicking against the floor came to an abrupt halt.

"Name?"

"Vegeta."

"Age?"

"Twenty-two."

"Race?"

"Saiyan."

"Status?"

"Higher than yours so move aside," Vegeta ordered, sick and tired of this process that happened once every month for a reason he could not comprehend. For all he knew and cared, it was probably just some stupid routine performed only for the sake of wasting time. Might as well skip the rest of the fifty questions and face Frieza.

He shoved past the weak guard and the other trembling elites. Nothing about Vegeta moved except his legs and, occasionally, the black pupils at the corner of his eyes to glare down at his inferiors. His back was straight, his posture one of arrogance and power, an outer shell that succeeded in concealing the burning layers of insecurity and fear.

His face was immobile and emotionless. Years of training and harsh survival helped develop a fake outer identity that countered his true self and he protected his secret vulnerability with the only thing he knew much about—his physical strength. No one but a select few knew about his instability and as far as he knew, he wanted to keep things that way.

"Vegeta, you're in for it now," laughed a skinny twig-like creature with dots for eyes and a thin line for lips. "I don't know why Frieza called you, but whatever it is, I have the feeling that you'll receive the biggest beating of your life. You know you always screw up."

The alien laughed as he jabbed his elbow against the side of his comrade, who began to laugh, too. Vegeta's walk halted and he turned to look at the character that dared to make such a comment about him. It was strange indeed that Frieza called to see him, for it usually meant a punishment of some kind. He could not quite figure out what he had done this time, but then again, before most of his beatings, he was always left clueless.

"It's what you get…for being such an insufficient failure…"

_You remember that line, Vegeta, don't you? Weak fools! All of them! Nobody should mess with the prince of all Saiyans!_

Without any warning, Vegeta's eyes flared into the color of black flames just as his face transfixed itself out of the monotonous expression and into one of complete rage. His ki rose to an unbelievable height, destroying all scouters at a ten-kilometer radius. Swifter than one could even think about blinking, a hand, larger and stronger and defined by strength, grabbed his insulter by his face and crushed the thin bones without any effort. The sound was agonizing to the ears of those nearby and when someone attempted to stop him, Vegeta ruthlessly killed him as well without a single word of caution.

Aggression inflated this sudden mood swing and his ki exploded with power once more. The dim lighting of the hallway was illuminated by a blinding blue light so brilliant that even the blind could not help but squint their eyes. Power surged into his hands as he threw the lifeless—and faceless—opponent into the staring audience. A voice that was not recognized as his own let out a demonic laugh unrivalled by anyone aboard the ship and words slid off of his tongue like venom.

"Let that be a lesson to you", followed by an insult spoken in his native tongue.

And he slowly walked away, ignoring the pointed stares directed at him. He had wasted enough time as it is on those "pansies" and Lord Frieza was still waiting for him at the end of the hallway.

As he walked however, he felt himself blacken out for a split second and the aggressive face quickly melted back into the monotonous expression of his previous one. He stopped, turned, and cluelessly looked at the chaos behind him, not at all remembering the events that took place just a few seconds prior.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I don't understand why we must send Vegeta to accomplish this task," Zarbon growled, fully annoyed that such a pleasurable mission was placed upon his chief rival. "Lord Frieza, let me do the honors of destroying the planet."

Frieza frowned in disapproval, which was a sign that meant Zarbon had better not argue against his intentions or else he would lose that pretty face of his. Frieza's orders had been a clear, well-thought out plan that was produced only for the sake of his own amusement. For the past few years as Vegeta's power began to increase and the prince began rising as one of his most powerful men, he found it rather funny and interesting to see exactly what it would take before the Saiyan would explode and fall into those awfully weird mood swings.

You know… That one mood swing where he's reserved one minute, aggressive the other, and intimidated like a child the next. It was a strange, odd quality that he often enjoyed provoking.

"You know very well of my reasons for sending Vegeta to destroy his own planet," Frieza said, glancing at Zarbon and then at the window where he saw the vastness of space. "If Vegeta fails, I can assure you that you will become the back up."

At that moment, the doors of Frieza's private room were thrust open and a rather sullen Vegeta strolled inside. At the sight of him, the discussion ceased and they turned their full attention upon the young man.

"You're late," Frieza said abruptly. "I expected you to be punctual, Vegeta! You've been trained to be punctual for ten years now. I expect you to be smart enough, even if you're a dumb monkey, to comprehend what punctuality means."

"My pardon, Lord Frieza," Vegeta murmured as he forced himself on one knee and lowered his head in false respect. "Your annoying guards prevented me from being PUNCTUAL."

The emphasis on the last word caused Frieza's left eye to twitch. However, he ignored the snide response and continued with the point of the scheduled meeting. He sat back, fully enjoying the Saiyan's submissive position.

"I've noticed that for the past few years, you've done very well with purging planets and you're beginning to lack the incompetence that you possessed during the first few years that you've been my property." He paused for a moment, letting that last word sink into Vegeta's head. "I'm very impressed, especially, with your latest mission. I know you've come back only a day ago, but I have another mission that I will assign you."

Vegeta bit back a growl.

"Another one?!"

"Isn't that what I said?"

"To which planet?!" Vegeta questioned, outraged with this news. His latest mission had been a tough one and he had looked forward into doing nothing but train for the next month or so.

"DON'T raise your voice at me, Vegeta!" Frieza hissed and the Saiyan reluctantly lowered his head again. "Your next assigned planet will be Planet Vegeta."

It took longer than it should for the full depth of the mission to sink into his head. His eyes widened the slightest as realization struck that he was being sent to the home he had not set foot on for a decade now. Memories of his father, of that dark cell room, of the pitying glances from Nappa, to even that little turquoise-haired girl rushed into his head like scenes of a slide projector. He swallowed a growing lump in his throat and his voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"Wh-why?"

"Because you're the best—next to Zarbon and my Ginyu Force, of course," Frieza said nonchalantly, enjoying the odd expressions that passed before the prince's panicked face. "And to be quite frank with you, I'd like to see if your ties to your home will be stronger than your obedience and loyalty to me. It's high time that you meet a challenge worth accomplishing, don't you agree?"

"I will not set foot on my planet to destroy it," Vegeta refused bitterly, his fists clenching next to his side. "It's dishonorable. I refuse to disgrace myself. Besides, you would be going back against your own word." He spat his next words out. "I was worth the safety of the planet. I refuse to acknowledge that my ten years in Hell has been spent for absolutely nothing!"

"Well then it's too bad, Vegeta. It's either you follow my direction or you'll be sure that Zarbon here will see to a fitting punishment." A flicker of fear crept in Vegeta's eyes. "…And exactly when have I ever kept my word? You know me better than that, monkey boy." The disobedient frown on Vegeta's face compelled him to be just a tad bit nicer. "Oh come now. Don't just think of it as a mission. I was being quite honest a moment back when I spoke about your excellent behavior as of late. As a reward, I am offering you a vacation. I'll give you a year to catch up on what you've been missing at home. However, by the end of that year, I expect that the planet's population has been demolished."

**  
  
Flashback**

Inside the rather warm palace, Vegeta's frozen body slowly thawed and he felt life and color return from the tip of his nose to the tip of his toes. A mix of indescribable emotions knotted inside of him as he turned his face to the side and stared at the tray of poor scraps of food. He shut his eyes and clenched his fists tightly, his entire body shaking and quivering with anger and disappointment.

…So he surpassed the month's training session out in the cold after all—and he hadn't died.

_…We wanted to freeze to death out there and die, didn't we?_ A sad, disappointed sigh. _Perhaps we can try again. There are plenty of other ways to die, you know._

The sixteen-year-old sat up on the hard bed and looked at the tray of food. He grabbed the scraps and shoved it into his mouth, swallowing hungrily and replenishing his rather empty stomach. As his stomach grew inflated, so did the anger.

"No," he murmured to himself as he shoved another handful of the mystery food into his mouth. "I won't disgrace myself with such a dishonorable death. I have other things to accomplish before I die."

Silent cry. _…LIKE WHAT?! Exactly what's more important than leaving this miserable life?!_

Vegeta swallowed and curled a smirk.

"Revenge."

**End of Flashback**

"Fine. I will take on the mission," Vegeta said abruptly and he stood back onto his feet. "I will go if you will promise me that full year—_Ice-jin_ time, not Saiyan."

Frieza lifted his brow at the sudden change of mind and wondered what triggered such a conversion. His curiosity was cut short when Vegeta continued to speak.

"When will I leave?"

"In three days."

"I request that you will not take part in my mission. You will not send Pretty-Boy over there to check up on me, as well as any of your other men. I want the full year to myself to redeem the loss of my ten years on Planet Vegeta. I will ensure you an accomplished mission afterwards."

"Very well."

With a final bow, the Saiyan Prince turned on his heels and stepped out of the throne room.

"…This had better be one promise that you will keep…"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The starlight, intruding through the cracks of what the white draperies failed to conceal, teased along the cheeks of the sleeping young lady, glowing a soft blue against the black surroundings that covered every corner. Slender eyebrows slanted, as did her lips, in a moment of discomfort and distress, and they were highlighted by a light spray of perspiration that beaded her forehead. Her chest swam up and down at an abnormal pace as her body moved and became entangled in the white silk sheets.

A soft cry escaped her lips as voices danced inside her dream; voices that held no faces nor any signs of life.

_I try so hard…_ it wailed, grasping onto her and burying its faceless form against her. _I try so hard but I can't do it. Help me._

_Oh but you can't help me, you worthless, spoiled creature. And you will never be able to stop me from what is to come._

_…Don't. Let's not think of what will come. Let us focus on the now. Let—_

_Let this message be solely dedicated to you, who hold comforts to everything…_

_I want comforts too… Stop trying to make me cry. I'm not supposed to cry._

_I stand here in the shadows away from the light—because light was never given to me. I will watch your every movement, every waking minute of your day and every sleeping second of your night._

_She didn't do anything wrong. Let's leave her out of this._

_When you least expect it, my hand will entwine itself in your well-cared-for hair while the other will curl around the neck that had never once been wounded or marked upon. I will press on with my grip and I will bear my angry eyes upon your frightened ones, squeezing and constricting, tightening and destroying all that you had had that I had never been given. I will continue to murder, even as those frightened eyes roll behind your head and your body, which was once strong and full of life, will grow limp._

_I won't do what he did._

_I will do everything that "he" did. What they "both" did. My wrath will befall on you. And I will make sure that you'll live through the turmoil that people like you have never experienced. I'm watching you…_

Bulma Briefs sat up from her bed and her first instincts were to warily eye the darkness which very much surrounded her. Her form shaking nervously and with fright, she slowly and unsteadily dipped her legs out of bed and paced herself over to the window. She violently pulled back the white curtains and the starlight flooded the room, diminishing every bit of the dark that had frightened her so. But no one was there and no one was watching her.

Yet not at all comforted by what her eyes could see, she stayed awake the rest of the night.

**  
  
To Be Continued…**


	4. Terrified

Summary of Last Chapter:   
Ten years of abuse all packed into one chapter! Towards the end, Frieza summons the grown, twenty-two-year-old Vegeta into his room and assigns a mission to purge Vegeta's home planet. Vegeta is given the permission to spend one full year on his home planet to catch up on what he had missed out on for the past decade before he destroys the planet. The last scene is on Planet Vegeta, where Bulma is sleeping and has a fitful dream of two mysterious voices.

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Chapter Four – **Terrified**

  


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"It should be in working condition," said Dr. Briefs, who proudly took a step back to observe his latest creation, just as his daughter took a step forward and touched the machinery with the tip of her fingers. "Bulma, my daughter! We make a fine, fine team."

"It's nothing I couldn't have done all by myself," responded the more stubborn character as she stroked their latest invention with inner pride. She bit back her gleeful grin and masked herself with a more serious expression. "I didn't need your help for this."

Bulma's father chuckled and whether it was a mocking chuckle or one of agreement was beyond her comprehension. It seemed that as Bulma grew older, she was becoming more and more independent, requiring less of her father's assistance and developing a stubbornness that not even the king himself could break through. She had grown up into a fine, intelligent young woman, a mechanic by nature who considered her computer and tools her heart and lungs.

The planet had not tamed her the way it had tamed her father; she resisted to becoming tied down by Saiyan cultures, though it did, however, heighten her sense of pride and honor—characteristics that were required for one to survive on such a planet.

"The old fart is going to love this," she said as soon as her father's chuckles died down. Her hands slid across the edifice and stopped at the white box attached to the wall. Her fingers pressed a few buttons and the door beside it slid open. "He doubted my intelligence for the past decade because I'm young and I'm female, but once he gets a load of this and once he sees how much of a genius I am—"

"I just may subdue your punishment for calling your superior an old fart."

Bulma Briefs froze dead in her tracks and her face paled subsequently, her eyes widening and her azure pupils shrinking into a pair of mere dots. Nervous laughter bubbled out of her lips, but no sooner had the sound been emitted, she clamped her mouth shut, quickly turned around, and lowered her head in an apologetic bow.

The king of Vegeta, his face lined with tiny wrinkles from age, grunted and brushed past her, entering the Briefs' invention without another word. The ten years without the threat of his empire's demolishment by that cursed Frieza had loosened his hard spirit so that the wrinkles on his forehead were all that was left from his previous years of constant eyebrow-furrowing and lip-frowning. He, all in all, had changed in personality, but that still did not prevent him from being who he was. Cold. Detached. Somewhat scary. As if he had "a bad case of spandex-wedgy", as Bulma would put it.

A disconcerted blush crept onto her paled cheeks and she silently said all that she wanted to say against the king within her mind, for if there was anything she had learned on this planet was the fact that the Saiyans had a distinct hearing range and could practically hear every uttered word. She had gotten into trouble several times for the same reason, and it had taken her years to get used to suppressing words that she would normally just blurt out without thought.

Bulma pressed the red button on the white box and the door slid closed, leaving the king to his privacy to explore the masterpiece creation, the gravity room, before turning on her heels and leaving, not at all aware of the pair of eyes that stared out from the shadows.

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Nightfall fell in its usual sneaky way, enveloping the blue sky with its ebon black, lightened only by the spray of stars that looked down on the surface of the planet. Sparkling. Glinting. As if it knew a secret that no one else below knew. No one, at a time like this when it was far later than even the late-night spar sessions, was awake. Almost no one, anyway. Saiyans held a strict bedtime code and then awakening at a _kami_-forbidden hour that was far behind that of sunrise.

The arid land was silent, a complete contrast from the usual daylight when the air was complicated by the sounds of rowdy fighting, conquering, and destroying. Everything was still and dark now, with an exception of the luminance emitting from the backyard of the palace, a deep red glow creeping from the rectangular windows of the gravity machine, and the low lull that buzzed from the inner and outer ventilation.

There was that light and sound, and the unidentified figure that warily walked up to the contraption and pressed the five-digit password key without hesitation or a second of fumbling. The door slid open smoothly and silently so that the trainer within was not at all disturbed or aware of the intervention. The intruder did not step in, but merely stood at the doorstep and watched the heated battle that was evolving between the king of Saiyans and an imaginary foe.

The gravitational pull was definitely evident, for the pull was so heavy that the beads of perspiration dripping from the side of the king's face fell like anvils. The king had been in the room for hours, the Saiyan instinct of striving for strength being his one motivation to keep training until the very last moment when he would collapse in exhaustion.

_It's like staring into a mirror, isn't it? You are not any different from him…_

The pair of dark eyes that observed the busy king narrowed, but the reason for the narrowing was beyond him. The sight of this man, the man whom he had not seen for ten years, aroused feelings in him that had not been felt since he was a child. He was caught between the want to clench his fists and knock this man's brains out, and the desire to back away, huddle up against the floor, and watch silently.

_I'm still scared of him… Aren't you?_

Vegeta, the lost Saiyan prince who had been sold away for the price of a kingdom, the Saiyan who had become more of an unwanted memory than an actual being, had landed on the planet without the notice of his subjects. A few knew and witnessed the landing up close, but the ones that knew were killed effortlessly without any thought that he had just destroyed his own people without hesitation. The last thing he wanted was a commotion to rise up and he having to deal with questions and rumors and gossips. What he wanted now was to see his father—and that was just what he was doing.

He had landed earlier in the morning, actually, and had stayed undercover for all of the day, following his father and watching him like an obsessed spy who had been caught between the want to confront his target and the want to hide from him. There was so much he was thinking and feeling now that it left him confused.

Nobody had seen him. Nobody knew of his presence. His ki had been carefully suppressed and he blended in so well with the Saiyan crowd that no one took much notice of him whenever he was out of the shadows. He had even seen that blue-haired girl—she had grown up, just as he—and had seen the buttons she pushed to open the contraption without anyone noticing his presence.

_What are you going to do? Just stand here?! You fool… You are, by far, stronger than this man now! Don't just stand there! Do something!_

_…No. He's… That man is… No! _A cry emitted from his lips._ Just stay where you are and don't go any closer._

Vegeta's brain was fighting itself and he was so lost in his choice of options, that he never noticed that the king had stopped his training for the night and collapsed onto the controls, where he shut off the gravity system. Vegeta only realized the sudden break in training when the king turned around and their eyes met.

The two stared at each other.

And while they were staring at each other in muted silence, a third figure entered the scene: Bulma.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jewels. They were like jewels that glowed and radiated with the brilliance only anger and hatred can rouse up. Jewels—priceless. And the look he threw at her was priceless indeed, for within the pair of those cold glassy irises was an emotion that swam like a deadly black serpent slithering on the surface of water. And it stared at her transfixed underneath a pair of brows that wove together in a downward slant—confused; jealous.

And those eyes revealed so much that it overwhelmed her—swallowed her as if his intention was to grab and drag her down into his hypnotizing eyes. And when those eyes narrowed, so did his lips, which became thin lines that curled downwards. He opened his mouth and screamed a cry directed at no one in particular, but aiming so that she could hear. And she heard.

She heard the scream, the cry for help, and witnessed the tears that leaked out and rained down his face. Each drop was like a diamond—hard, cold, detached. And they fell without shame; they fell despite the pities thrown at him; they fell and no one cared. She did not care. The caped man did not care. The subjects that had once dedicated their lives to him did not care.

Nobody cared.

All that anyone offered was pity. No one tried to stop those four creatures who gripped onto his limbs like vices strong enough to cut off all circulation. No one reached out when that tail, defenseless and worthless, wrapped around the wrist of that creature like a silent plea to be let go. No one took a step forward in resistance when he called for help. And no one, not even she, reached out an open hand.

And he was gone—locked away behind those thick, white walls of a spaceship. And even then, no one did anything but watch as the ship became a mere speck in the sky.

"It's nothing, child. Don't concern yourself about it."

Bulma Briefs raked her slender fingers through her hair in irritation at the memory that slid into her mind for the millionth time now. Her eyes, which had been drooping for the past several hours due to weariness and sleep deprivation, were now alert.

"I…hate…the night…" she growled, and she kicked herself out of bed and wrapped herself up in her favorite lavender bathrobe, imported just a few months back from her home planet. She quickly twirled her hair around and pinned it up into a bun while slipping her feet into her bunny slippers. "I hate it. I hate it almost as much as raw meat. Be a Saiyan, they say! _Suck it up and eat it, weakling!_ Morons. Whatever. I just can't wait until my next given vacation when I can go home and eat a nice big T-bone steak—cooked well-done—and sleep without having stupid thoughts and dreams."

For the past few months, it had practically become a ritual to wander around in the darkness of the palace clad in her bathrobe and furry white bunny slippers. Sleep became one challenge that she could not overcome, especially ever since she began to have startling dreams that scared the living daylights out of her. It was the black plague, indeed, and as bothersome as it was, she just could not find a way to repress or impede them.

It seemed as if each night replayed the same dreams. There were ones of a child clinging to her, crying at her in an almost haunting way. There were ones where an aggressive monster threatened to strangle the life out of her and it came in details so vivid that when she awoke, she almost felt as if her very life had been squeezed out of her throat. There were dreams that replayed the flashback she had just now. Then there were dreams of darkness where she only heard voices, and dreams where it was so white that it nearly blinded her.

"When I return to Earth," Bulma murmured while rubbing her temples wearily, "The first thing I'm going to do is visit a psychiatrist. I think I'm going crazy." She scowled to herself and walked right out of her room. "So this is what the beautiful genius has reduced to—a mentally-ill twenty-year-old freak who's too scared to sleep by herself during the night. Not even with her nightlights on."

The hallways were dark and creepy, and she felt the sudden sensation that a pale-faced ghost would stand at the end of the hallway, and it would turn its head and stare at her through bloodshot eyes while baring its bloody fangs. Well, that would certainly be less of a scare than what the dreams gave her. Planet Vegeta and meeting its king's desire to "industrialize" his empire were stressing her out far too much.

Normally during nights when she could not sleep, she would visit the laboratory where she was free to tinker with anything and everything for as long as she wanted. However, as she thought about visiting the lab, she found that her feet were leading her to the gravity room, where she would turn it on and check out its splendor for the millionth time since its completion. She was proud of that thing—prouder than what words could possibly convey.

Through the exit door near the laboratory, she pressed the password to avoid setting off the alarm and stepped outside, and was surprised indeed to see that the gravity room was on and running.

_The king's still training?_ She thought in surprised stupor and stared at the eerie red glow that blared out from the windows. _I'm going to have to do something about those colored light bulbs. That red light is totally creepy._ Deciding that it would be best to leave the king to his business, she was about to turn around and head back inside, had it not been for the fact that a figure with tall, flame-like hair was standing outside the door, staring in without movement…

_What's the king doing, just standing out there and staring? You'd THINK he's gotten enough of the thing by running it all day long_, she thought. _Crazy Saiyans._ But curiosity nagged at her as she slowly noticed that the "king" was standing in armor that was unfamiliar to her. He was a tad been taller than the king (or was it just the trick of the gravity room's lighting?) and, if her eyes were not failing her, the king was missing his goatee. _…What the…?_

Wanting closer inspection, she hugged herself and walked up to the character while loudly clearing her throat in means of catching his attention.

"Excuse me, your highness, but what are you doing up so late at night?"

And the so-called "highness" tore his eyes away from whatever he was staring at and turned around to face her. Similar in height, the two found themselves face-to-face and eye-to-eye.

> > **  
  
**_"I THOUGHT YOU WERE HONORABLE!" he seemed to say aloud, his voice directed to the caped, lone man whose back was turned against him. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE HONORABLE!"_  
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For the first time in her life, Bulma Briefs was lost for words. 

**  
  
To Be Continued…**

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Author's Note:  
As you may or may not know, I have removed Chapters 5 through 11. Why? …Here's why: CHAPTERS 5 THROUGH 11 SUCKED AND I HATED IT WITH A PASSION AND IT WAS THE CAUSE OF MY STUPID WRITER'S BLOCK! I became so concentrated on building up the story's suspense that I failed to focus on the real important thing: **The Plot**. I have SUCH a marvelous plot going on, as well as a very nice pacing up to Chapter Four, which I ruined with all the stuff that I began shoving into the story.

So I removed them and I am now currently in the process of re-writing the chapters, removing SEVERAL AND ONE scenes and adding SEVERAL AND TWO new scenes that will be more beneficial to the story. I hope I am not disappointing anyone. I realize that there were MANY people anticipating on the twelfth chapter even after reading the crappy chapters 5 through 11, but I could NOT possibly continue writing without getting stuck for several months at a time.

I will also not post the new and improved Chapter 5 until I complete the entire story. Why? Because when people ask me to post the next chapter (which is not a bad thing! I love feeling flattered! ), I start _forcing_ myself to write, and the product only ends up rushed and low of quality. I want to make Traumatized the best story I've ever written, and in order to do so, I'd like to take my time and surprise you all at the very end.

I will try to get it completed as soon as possible. I have stopped myself from trashing this story because of the promise I made to you guys. I won't break my promise again! So until then, keep the story bookmarked and I'll let anyone know of its update through my mailing list! Adios!


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